The black sedan purred to a stop at the curb, right outside the iron gates of New York University. Inside the climate-controlled cabin, Nathan Summers adjusted his thighs for the hundredth time, the hem of his cream-colored pencil skirt riding up despite his best efforts. The garment was silk, expensive—exactly what a Belgian heiress would wear—but Nathan felt naked from the waist down, his newly shaved legs strangely vulnerable to every whisper of air conditioning blasting from the vents.

"Showtime," Luke said from the opposite bench seat.

He was already reaching for the door handle—the brunette disguise working almost too well. As Allison Reed, Luke wore chestnut waves pinned back by designer glasses that caught the afternoon light. His blouse was a deep emerald V-neck that plunged far enough to show the engineered curve of his prosthetic cleavage, and when he shifted, the pleated navy skirt rode up milky thighs that still held the muscled memory of a man's posture. The FBI's R&D department had crafted Allison to look like a bookish temptress, the kind of grad student who turned heads in the library stacks, and Luke inhabited the role with infuriating ease.

He swung his legs out first. The moment his heeled pump touched asphalt, Nathan watched Luke's spine stiffen—not from pain, but from something else entirely. A faint flush crept up Luke's neckline as he stood, the height of the stilettos shifting his center of gravity forward, pressing the seamless crotch of the disguise against his still-functioning anatomy. Nathan knew that look. He'd felt his own body betray him during training, but Luke was practically gloating with arousal, his hips swaying with exaggerated satisfaction as the tight skirt restricted his stride.

"For God's sake," Nathan muttered, sliding across the leather seat toward the other door. "Adjust your frequency before you embarrass us."

Luke didn't turn around. He just raised a hand and waved off the concern, his voice coming through perfectly pitched and feminine thanks to the tiny subvocal modulator already activated behind his borrowed lips. "Relax, Princess. I've got it set to 'sultry librarian.' You're the one who sounds like you're doing a bad drag impression."

Nathan gritted his teeth—Arabella's teeth, bonded to his jawline with molecular precision. He stepped out onto the sidewalk, the autumn breeze hitting his legs immediately. The sensation made him gasp. Without the shield of trousers, without the coarse hair he'd shaved …